" The spinsters had no counter-philosophy to offer; so they turned to Ruth, who had singularly and unconsciously invested herself with glamour, the glamour of adventure, which the old maids did not recognize as such because they were only tourists. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning.
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